Sudden Clarity
by chiselchest
Summary: A salt n burn for a vengeful spirit ends with a concussed little brother, a worried big brother, a confession, an abhorred but much needed chick flick moment and a patch up job. Set late season 3.


**Disclaimer**- I obviously don't own any recognizable characters etc, as I am not American… and I also don't happen to be male either so… :D

**A/N**- I'm really paranoid of accidentally copying someone's ideas. Of course there will many out there like this but I know I haven't seen this story before. But if yours is similar, I apologize. Also, this is only the second SPN story I've ever written, first time I've uploaded one, so I'm a bit uncertain. Anyways, enough from me, I hope you all enjoy. :D

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**Sudden Clarity**

The glint of polished wheels and gleaming outline of a muscle car, were all that was seen in the cover of darkness. Comfortably seated in the parked beauty were two people.

From the vehicle, two tall figures emerged, walking silently to the rear of the car. With a small squeak of hinges and rustle as something was moved, the boot was opened, held in place by a spare shotgun.

The men, for their gender was revealed by the light of the street lamp, meticulously and methodically began to gather the required necessities for the job that had brought them to this picturesque town.

In the duffle between the two men, shotguns, rounds, salt, lighter fluid and matches were placed. With the duffle shouldered, shovels and flash lights in hand and the car locked up, the men began their task of weaving amongst the stones of loved ones gone.

"What did you say his name was again Sammy?" asked the shorter of the two.

"Declan James" was the response, as the questioned man focused on illuminating the etched names on the headstones.

"Right"

Silence encased the brothers as they wound their way through the sea of stone and fog. All that accompanied the two was howling wind and bobbing columns of light. It was a while before the quiet was interrupted.

"Found 'im Dean" shouted Sam

"Thank Christ, I was starting to freeze my arse off here" were Dean's intentionally loud mutters, his statement attested by the accompaniment of misty breath.

"I suppose we should get to it then?" suggested Sam with a sigh.

Dean nodded in agreement. Both boys began the arduous task of digging up earth to the decomposed corpse that lay six feet beneath. Or, as many of societies authority figures liked to label it 'desecration of graves'.

While the shovelling of soil continued, both experienced hunters kept a vigilant awareness of their surroundings.

The task was only considered completed after their shirts were sufficiently moulded to their muscled torsos and sweat beaded from their foreheads. Neither felt the cold air until a wind whistled around them, reminding them of their discarded coats and the cold climate they were in.

Surprisingly, the spirit had not made an appearance, perhaps hoping to have lured the men into a false sense of security and accomplishment. However, if that was the case then it obviously didn't know the disposition of a Winchester.

With the coffin open and bones beared for all, the brothers made short work of sprinkling salt and lighter fluid over the skeleton. It was then that the spirit most predictably showed up to illustrate its displeasure of being completely put to rest.

Having removed the matches from the bottom of the duffle, Dean had been ready to light a few. He had always claimed role of throwing the ignited matches, taking pleasure in being the one to set the sons a bitches burning.

However his highlight of salts 'n' burns was dampened as the spirit attempted to charge at him. He was saved a concussion by Sam, who like he, had his back and shot a round of salt, dissipating the spirit for a short while.

They however underestimated the anger and restlessness of the spirit as it reappeared within seconds. Neither had a chance to fire another shot as both brothers were flung forcefully in opposite directions. Dean was luckily enough sent hurdling through the air to land on his back on a small area of hard ground, dispelling all air from his lungs. Sam on the other hand was not as fortunate. He was sent flying, only stopping when he connected with the gnarled and leafless trunk of an oak.

Sucking in lung fulls of air; Dean quickly pushed himself to his feet. He automatically looked to check on his brother and found him unconscious at the base of a tree. Over ruling his ingrained instinct of going to his brother's side, he grabbed a finger full of matches and lit them. With his brother unknowingly acting as a distraction, Dean was able to throw the burning fire starters into the doused coffin. It was with a hair raising screech that the spirit dispersed one final time.

The flames lighted the area and the heat flushed Deans cheeks as he watched for a few moments as the bones below turned to ash. It only lasted a moment however, before Dean was hurriedly making his way to Sam's side.

He got there and immediately checked his vitals. With gentle, searching hands, Dean found a slightly slowpulse, a bleeding laceration on back of Sam's head and no obvious neck injuries. Deeming him fit enough to leave for a few moments, Dean went and retrieved Sam's jacket from beside the grave. Tucking it over Sam's chest, Dean then went about waking his brother up.

Carefully, he patted Sam's cold cheek all the while jostling a broad shoulder. It took a moment but Sam eventually sluggishly blinked unfocused eyes up at his brother.

"Hey dude" smiled Dean comfortingly, as he hovered over Sam.

Sam didn't seem to notice though for his brow creased with pain and he brought a hesitant hand to his head.

Knowing that head injuries caused confusion and disorientation, Dean went ahead and answered the question that would inevitably be asked.

"You got thrown pretty hard, knocked your head good"

Sam's reply was an unintelligible noise from the back of his throat.

He was rather worried by Sam's apparent confusion and quietness but was however thankful that he wasn't being sick. He watched as Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Headache" stated Dean sympathetically.

"Mmn hmm" was Sam's barely decipherable agreement.

"Come on; let's go to the car where you can sit while I fill the grave'

Dean crouched on his heels, hooked Sam's arm across his shoulder and hefted the both of them up to their feet. It was no easy feat, both because of Sam's height and mostly dead weight.

"Come on Sammy, help me out a little would ya" puffed Dean, needing to wrap his other arm around Sam's waist as his knees continuously buckled. Dean felt when Sam consciously made an effort to help his brother, relieving some of the weight.

The walk to the car was a slow and stumbling one. Sam looked like he was aboard a boat on a ruff sea. However, as is the Winchester way, they persisted.

When the brothers managed to get to the car, Dean helped fold Sam into the front passenger seat.

"Alright Sam, you sit and rest, I'll go fill the hole" Dean explained again. Sam still had a rather vacant stare, so he wasn't sure if he was understood.

"Capiche?"

"'Kay" acknowledged Sam, nodding slightly.

Dean blinked a moment, rather startled at hearing him say something before patting Sam's arm.

Softly closing the door, Dean set off to put the dirt back where it once lay undisturbed. After finishing as quickly as he could, Dean collected the items from the ground and made his way back to the Impala.

Throwing the duffle onto the backseat, Dean then turned to check on his baby brother. Finding him sleeping lightly, head resting on the window, Dean started the ignition. Quickly switching the radio off the moment the car turned on, not wanting to wake his brother, Dean looked to see if he had disturbed him. He hadn't.

The drive was silent, the only sounds being that of Sam's even breathing and the grumble of the Chevy's engine.

Dean parked into the designated space marked for the room that he had previously booked that afternoon. Cutting the engine, he firstly unlocked the motel room and gathered the medical kit. He then made his way around to the passenger door. He deftly caught his brother as he listed to the right, headed for the asphalt. Holding his brothers upper body with his hands, he began verbally coxing him awake.

He was greeted with a temporarily confused expression.

"Sam, all we need to do now is get into the motel room. You just got to stay awake and help me get you inside"

Once again supporting his brother's weight they staggered into the room. Leading his brother to the bed furthest from the door, he then plonked Sam onto the much to short mattress. Assembling his brothers limbs into a more comfortable position were he was seated he went and grabbed the kit from where he'd placed it on the table.

He started off with a question to more accurately evaluate Sam's concussion.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" asked Dean patiently, his single pointer finger held up.

Dean watched as Sam blinked owlishly before squinting to try and see clearer.

"Stop moving your hand Dean" Sam slurred.

Sam reached his hand out to Dean's but missed by a couple of inches and only managed to grasp air. Seeing his brothers dilemma, he helped by guiding Sam's hand to his wrist, where he provided a grip to allow Sam to some what orientate himself.

After staring intently, his eyes blinking slowly Sam came to a conclusion.

"Four"

"Sorry kiddo, you're seeing a few to many"

Seated on an unstable chair, Dean pulled the required medical supplies needed for the patch up job and was once again caught off guard when Sam chose to speak.

"My head hurts" complained Sam rather childishly, plaguing Dean with a bout of nostalgia, a much younger Sam being remembered.

"I know Sammy. When I finish, I'll give you some nice pain meds and you can sleep as long as you want"

Dean became concerned when tears built up in Sam's unfocused eyes, his bottom lip trembling. His face also twisted, as if something occurred with sudden clarity. Sam then brought shaky hands up to cover his face. It was obvious that Sam was crying from the shaking of his shoulders.

"Sammy what's wrong? Is it hurting that bad. Are you hurt somewhere else?" Dean asked worriedly.

However, Dean's concern seemed to further distress Sam and his silent crying became full out sobs.

"Sammy?!" he asked alarmed

"Please don't leave me!" he pleaded in a sob, his face buried in Dean's stomach, hands gripped desperately into the fabric on Dean's lower back.

"Oh Sammy" Dean sighed in despair, placing both hand into Sam's hair and tenderly stroking.

"What am I supposed to do?" Sam choked out desperately.

Before Dean could answer Sam asked again.

"What am I supposed to do, you're all I have left?" he sobbed again, his question muffled by Dean's shirt.

Sam finally succumbed to the steadily creeping darkness, leaving a distressed older brother in his wake.

Dean readjusted his hold on his little brother to better support the dead weight.

No longer having to keep up his impassive façade, his face contorted into one of deepest sadness. With his arms wrapped lovingly and protectively around his little brothers shoulders, he let a single tear escape and roll down his cheek.

To ensure that he didn't let the despair prevail he distracted himself by rolling Sam onto his side. He then cleaned, stitched and iced the wound.

After holding the wrapped ice to Sam's head until it melted, he then rolled Sam onto his back once again. He let his eyes travel over Sam… remembering him, before affectionately pushing Sam's bangs from his eyes.

Sam stirred beneath his hand.

"Hey kiddo. How 'bout I get some pain meds in you, then you can sleep all you want".

Sam tilted his head in Dean's direction. Taking that as a yes, Dean reached over and grabbed the meds and bottled water. Placing the small pills into Sam's hand he then reached under and cradled his little brother's head in support.

Sam lethargically placed the pills in his mouth, and then swallowed the water that was placed at his lips.

"Thanks Dean" Sam mumbled with gratitude.

"No worries little brother, it's my job"

Sam smiled sadly before slipping back into slumber.

Dean didn't sleep at all that night.

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**A/N**- Well, this is obviously before Dean's deal comes due and thusly season four.

I would also like to explain about the apparently unbelievable situation. I had a friend of mine read this and one of the first things she asked me was, 'How old is Sam?'. I've always thought that Sam would have to have had a little break down over the situation at some point. I mean, how could anyone not. And even though such situations aren't real, others are similar. So a combination of the overwhelming realisation of the situation, the ever closing due date and a concussion caused Sam's reaction above. Well that's what I'm saying anyway. Hope others think it realistic too.

Also, I did some research on concussions so that I didn't look like a douche. However I wasn't sure on the fact of not letting someone sleep and waking them up every few hours. I've read many fics where they allowed to sleep but the patient is woken constantly. However, no where could I find that actually being necessary. So for the use of this fic, Sam's concussion wasn't severe enough that Dean needed to wake Sam up and so he just monitored him. I hope that non existent medical knowledge is some what correct.

Thanks for reading!


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